


Secure

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 04:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15622557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir’s party is taken prisoner.





	Secure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FactorialRabbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactorialRabbits/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for factorialrabbits’ “24 for Elrond/Lindir [a kiss in danger]” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/176075204220/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Lindir’s never been so terrified in his whole life, and that includes both the time he first saw a dwarf naked and the time he poured his heart and soul out to his lord. In retrospect, most of his troubles have been more embarrassment and worry than true _fear_. He’s lead a relatively peaceful life, calm and comfortable, and it’s left him wholly unprepared for the terrors that lie before him.

The other elves in Lindir’s party seem equally as glum. The two other minstrels at his right are virtually catatonic, shocked into a miserable silence that Lindir fully understands. On Lindir’s far left, the two guards they traveled with are sullenly downcast, even though Lindir timidly said he didn’t blame them. Erestor, immediately on Lindir’s left, is as stoic as usual, except that there’s a harder edge to it—Lindir can sense how truly tense he is. Unlike the stubborn guards and desperate minstrels, Erestor didn’t struggle against his bonds. He crisply tested the ropes, then resumed his perfect posture. Lindir’s slumped against his pole and trying not to whimper.

“Do not despair,” Erestor murmurs suddenly, low enough that only Lindir seems to hear. Lindir has worked with Erestor the longest, and though he thinks he knows Erestor well, he’s never _understood_ his mentor. As he’s been with Erestor’s fastidiousness and work ethic, he’s in awe of Erestor’s continued composure. The metal pole digging into his back doesn’t seem to faze him, nor does the crude rope binding his arms behind his back. Cross-legged on the floor of the storage tent, Erestor doesn’t look much worse for ware.

Lindir would like to be brave and listen. Yet all he can think of is _home_ , and that he might never see it again—he might never stroll among the beautiful trees of Imladris or strum his harp beneath Lord Elrond’s window. The thought of never seeing _Elrond_ again is almost too much to bear. He rasps brokenly, “How can I not? We are in the hands of ruffians...”

“Mortal ruffians,” Erestor chides, “not orcs. They will not kill us.”

“But we are tied, so they do not intend to release us. What _do_ they intend to do with us?”

Erestor tilts his head, giving Lindir that look that says what Lindir already knows: he doesn’t _want_ to know. His imagination guesses anyway. He’s heard all the wild tales from travelers of the dangerous roads, but he’d never put much stock in them. Now he fears all of them and more. He realizes that he’s begun to tremble, and he tries to stop. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a noise behind him. The candlelight is dim, and Lindir’s body is awkwardly strung up, but he tries to peer over his shoulder anyway. The guards are both looking, but the other minstrels don’t seem to care. Erestor sucks in a breath and stiffens, as though ready to meet his fate. The very tip of a sharp sword is slicing quickly down the back of the tent, until there’s a long enough seam to be opened into a flap. 

A brunet elf slips inside, and Lindir’s heart hammers harder against his chest. Lord Elrond, strikingly composed in rich armour, creeps in behind him. Excitement and relief swell in Lindir, then a harried cloud of renewed panic—it was one thing to have his own life in danger, but quite another to have his beloved lord’s. 

“Be silent,” Elrond tells them first, and the deep sound of his voice instantly draws all eyes to him. They all fall obediently still, though one of the minstrels had gasped and one of the guards cuts off a cry just in time. “The camp is surrounded now. Your captors will be apprehended, and I will lead that. Another will come to escort you out, but you must be inconspicuous—there is a greater number of them than we anticipated.” That’s how they overwhelmed the two guards with Lindir. On behalf of the lot of them, Erestor nods. Elrond lays a hand on his shoulder and promises, “You will be safe soon, my friend.” To the rest of the tent, he adds, “All of you.”

But to Lindir, he moves just that little bit closer, and he brushes a chaste kiss across Lindir’s cheek, heedless of who sees. Lindir’s breath catches, his face heating. His anxiety is slowly ebbing back, and in its place, he feels honoured and well loved. Elrond orders him, “Remain strong, my love.”

Lindir can only nod. With the barest whisper of his sword, Elrond cuts the cords from Lindir’s pole. Erestor’s bonds are sliced a second later, and in less than a minute, all five of them are freed. They remain sitting as Elrond leaves again, out to enact their rescue.

Knowing that Elrond has returned to him, Lindir does indeed feel strong.


End file.
